Rikath has a distinct aura of displeasure about him, the scrape of stone against metal grinding out his annoyance. « They have already sent a replacement for Kaseth. »

Zekoith is momentarily unfocused, his mindscape sending up only vines growing along Rikath's stones before the brown deigns to — or more likely, remembers to — actually speak in words. « Oh? » His vines twist; there's the hissing sound of jungle snakes in the background. « They. The villainous 'they' that mars the rest of Pern. Home at Igen has a They, too; home at Eastern had no They and no Them, but I think perhaps now we have — well. Perhaps one of Them. Is the replacement to blame? Is she wicked? Is /she/ the reason Kaseth is gone? »

Rikath is only mildly surprised to hear the vehemence in Zekoith's mindvoice; it's like having a true brother-in-arms for a moment. One who understands his natural tendencies toward distrust and violence! This might not be good for Pern. « Maura thinks this new one may not know why she was sent here, but is certain there is nothing good behind it for her to have arrived so quickly. And when Maura is suspicious… » Well, one can hardly blame the young woman for developing acynical frame of mind. But she has nothing on the dark tendrils of anger that curl around the brown's vinework and slither through stone for a moment. « We should be wary, yes? I do not like this. »

Zekoith was in love with Kaseth, a little bit, after all — as in love as a dragon can ever be. He was still mourning. By taking a nice long /nap/ while Ch'rii was at Jaya's doing — something that Zekoith remains entirely clueless about. « Maura is suspicious, » he echos. There is, without a doubt, surprise. « But not of these new ones. Have you asked her? Our new — gold. » Not their new queen. Not yet. This one must earn his respect.

Rikath echoes the sentiment of surprise. « Yes, Maura is suspicious. This upsets her. » Which makes Rikatheven *more* crabby, even if all he had with a little crush on Kaseth. « No, I have not attempted to speak with her yet. » he admits, disliking the very idea, pulling himself further back into dismayed darkness.

Zekoith is brown. Rikathis blue. That is really the answer: all a blue is going to have for a gold is a little crush! Zekoith had children in his future! « I'm not going to do it, » he points out. « We haven't met. And I am gardening right now. But if /she/ is not a They, she might know things. About Them and what They are planning next. »

Rikath twitches just enough that it shakes the stones of his self imposed fortress. It's a good thing the blue is not capable of reproducing. « Fine. I will… try.» he grumbles. « Them. And They. I do not like this. Maura does not like this.» Now he's just getting snarly.

Zekoith is no stranger to snarly, although he, instead, gets chittery. It is a low chirping sort of sound that signals irritability, and thankfully for Ch'rii is not a sound the brown can vocalize. « You are honorable, » he reminds Rikath. « For being the first to speak to her. We will all appreciate it. What does Maura say of her? The human. »

Rikath struggles, briefly, with a wave of mixed emotions that flood into him from Maura and he has to block so that poor Zekoith isn't inundated while their chatting mindlink is open. It's like the sound of a windtunnel suddenly being closed off with a NT explosion of falling boulders. « She is polite, Svaldirath. And tries to extend her sympathies for our loss.» he notes, in gravelly tones. « Maura says the rider is polite and not unkind. But stiff and formal for the moment. She adds… that she will be going to Jaya's when she is done with this, because now she needs a drink or four. »

Zekoith repeats, « Svaldirath, » as if trying to get used to it. To figure out if he likes it. The taste of the name on his mind. He's only briefly jarred by the forceful blocking provided by Rikath, and is grateful for it but doesn't speak on it. « Does she wish for mine to join her? He is 'working,' but he will be back. »

Rikath seems actually a bit more personable after he takes in all that excess negativity from his lifemate, the tone mellowing out to seem more like rock worn smooth by years of water and wind shaping it. « It is a pleasing name, I suppose. » he concedes. « You know Maura. If he has time, yes. If he is busy she refuses to impose. »

Zekoith is almost — /almost/ — allowing himself a brief moment of amusement as he relays, « Mine wishes yours to know he got her a skirt and he hopes that she likes it. And wants to know if also she would like a red dress. » There's a bit of a 'what in Faranth's name, Rii' to Zekoith's tone. He is rolling his mental eyes here.

Rikath allows himself plenty of boggling amusement at that. « He got her a what and … what? » he repeats, rolling his own mental eyes as well. Then, a sigh. Because nothing's more fun to HIM then passing mental love notes. Really. « She is quite grateful, and a red dress sounds perfect. SHe does not have one of those yet.» There's a pause, where Zekoith is maybe not supposed to hear him. « I am certainly /not/ passing -that- on. » Hnph.

Zekoith is not about to let it go, though: « I promise I will not actually tell Ch'rii, if you simply tell /me/ what you are not passing on. I'm curious, now. You've teased me. »

Rikath does the Rikathequivalent of a whine: metal against rock. « Do I really have to? She gets all mushy these days.» Whic he finds gross. Really.

Zekoith tries the mental eye-roll that he's been attempting to pick up from Rii: it almost works. His disdain is showing, though. « It makes mine uncomfortable in a funny way. Brihela would have said it was time to marry her now. If you tell me I will make sure he gets you a very nice rock! A shiny rock. »

Rikath joins in a second eyeroll, comisserating. « She blew him a kiss. » he admits, making a horking sound to accompany that. « And some sort of mental I love you.» He feels ill now. THANKS FOR MAKING HIM SHARE THAT ZEKOITH.

Zekoith pities Rikath. He really does, and offers up the draconic equivalent of a drink: mental waves of jungle rivers washing over Rikath's head and cooling the mental image away. « Ew, » he says philosophically. « I will not pass it along. »

Rikath accepts the pity, and the freshing water that washes away moss and mildew from old stone. « I appreciate that. Of course, now that you coerced me into sharing it with you, both of us /should/ have to suffer. » he points out, philosophical.

Zekoith suffers! Zekoith suffers elaborately. Feel his suffering. He is exuding grossed-out right now. « He used to just — I think he called it fuck and run? He does not do that anymore. I think that it is better. »

Rikath pauses for a moment in their shared disgust. « So he was just like D'lan then.» He, obviously, would not appreciate that treatment for *his* rider, a faint hiss of displeasure seeping through as wind howling past cracked stone. « Yes, I believe this is better.» He shakes off the moment of over-protective nuance by adding. « It would seem that the new queen's rider can be easily inflenced. So I have warned that there are some who would like Eastern to fail. We may be able to use this to our advantage. »

Zekoith is a bit shifty. Perhaps a bit uncomfortable. « Not quite as bad as D'lan. He was not so comfortable doing so to everyone and he never hurt people. He simply chose women who did not want to commit either. He was not ready. He is now. » A hesitation, some thinking. Rikath is a far better schemer than Zekoith, for sure. « Svaldirath will not want her Weyr to fail. She will be on our side. »

Rikath obviously relaxes some, then. « Oh really? » That gives the blue some food for thought. « If I had thought he would hurt Maura I would be much more cautious about letting her get so close. » Which means: okay, sorry for the comparison. « Yes, that is right. And Svaldirath may not appreciate her rider being /used/ as a pawn. »

Zekoith forgives, just as silently as Rikath apologizes. It's cool. It's all good. « Of course she wouldn't. Would anyone? Riders are not tools for others to manipulate. » Another hesitation, as he tries to catch up, the wheels of his brain turning. « Do you have a plan? »

Rikath allows ferocious wind to die, and pouring rain to dissipate into just the kind of humid mist that Zekoith appreciates. « My plan is Maura, of course. » He's almost smug about it too. « She can be as sweet and friendly as is usually expected of her; and in that way show Meiglen that whatever is being said about Eastern and its riders isn't to be listened to. » Even if half of it is true.